


Riding Out The Storm

by Talkin_to_a_Lady



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Teasing, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24509206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talkin_to_a_Lady/pseuds/Talkin_to_a_Lady
Summary: After a long week working, Arthur is finally halted by a huge dust storm, and it's your chance to give him a little reward.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Kudos: 15





	Riding Out The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 1899, AU where Arthur owns Beecher's Hope

“… _Arthur…_ ” You almost miss the old days; the days when he was so mystified that you wanted him that he was hesitant; suspicious of your desires to the point that you had to take his hand and put it on you so he understood, “ _… Just…_ ” you hear his deep, breathy chuckle hum above you. Those days were far behind him now; he always joked that you had played a dangerous game when you pushed him to believe how he made you feel, and today he was _really_ enjoying dragging every single one of those feelings out.

It had been a tough week at Beecher’s Hope; you’d barely seen the man as he’d spent his time out either delivering or selling your horses before bringing new ones back to break in. He’d leave at sunup; leaving you to manage the Ranch, ensuring he’d always come back to you that same evening, despite your protests. He’d flop down beside you, nuzzle a kiss into your neck, run a thick, hungry hand down you and produce soft, bear-like snores almost instantaneously. There’d be nights he just slept in his clothes.  
Today had been one chance for him to stop; you’d let him sleep late; peeling his heavy arm off you as you tiptoed out the room to start your morning. You’d washed and dressed in the bathroom, eaten, and you pull on your boots to take on his chores for the day. The wind whips at your face with warm stings as you step outside; squinting as grit and dust dance in the air. You go to feed the horses and clear out the stable. As you finish you begin to think about how to spend the rest of your free afternoon with the man in your bed and bite your lip in hope. You look out of the stable; the animals seem agitated; gambolling in the paddock with a wildness that you hadn’t seen since Arthur first brought them back and broke them in.  
“Woaaah, _woooaaah, eeaaasyyyy_!” you hear him softly call to them from the fence, “ _ain’t no need to be like this, now_.” He cooed. You lean on the sill of the stable window and look out to him from the shadows as he talks the horses down from their anguish. He could ease the fear or suffering of any living creature with the simple low rumble of his voice, and you loved to watch as he smiled with pure adoration as they responded in kind, _tough bad man ain’t no good for anyone_ , you used to tease at him, which afforded you a playful hard slap on your backside for cheek.  
He steps into the paddock and finishes calming the herd, finally spying you beaming at him from the window, he saunters over to you, happily kicking his heels.  
“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asks as he tucks your hair behind your ear and pecks a kiss on your lips.  
“I was goin’ to ask you the same question, Mister Morgan.” You purr, “I was workin’ so you’d not have to,” you brandish the pitchfork handle, “you deserve to sleep in.”  
“Hmmm,” he looks at you with dreamy eyes as he picks a large strand of hay from your collar and runs his hand up your neck, onto your cheek, “ _what’s the point of me bein’ in bed when you ain’t?_ ” he growls as he pulls your face towards him and kisses you firmly, flicking his tongue briefly against yours. You grip the edge of the window and follow his lips as he pulls back from you, “I’ve missed you, Sweetheart.” He sighs heavily and lets his hand drop from the back of your neck as he looks back to the horses, “Somethin’ ain’t right.” His brow crumples as he turns his attention to the horizon; the sky is darkening in a haze of grey and orange in the far distance, “I think we got a storm comin’.” Without another word he goes back towards the house with some haste. You finish up in the stable and join him as he stands with binoculars, looking at the ever-increasing shadow ahead, “S _hit_. _Can’t get a goddamn break!_ ” he thrusts the binoculars at you and marches off towards the wood stores, “GODDAMN SANDSTORM!” he calls to you over the clunk of action he’s causing.  
He returns with an arm full of wood, some nails and a hammer, marching towards the house, “Get inside, I gotta sort this out. Need to keep them shutters down, and get the horses shut up tight.”  
“Well, I can help.” You say as he drops the bundle by your feet, pulling his bandana from his pocket,  
“You’ve already done plenty, there’s enough time before it gets too bad,” he pinches your chin lovingly, “ _let me do this_.” He says softly. There’s never any point arguing with the man over tasks; he likes to be useful and busy, so you nod and make your way inside hurried along by a light pat on your ass and his low baritone chuckle.

You go inside and start to dig out spare candles and oil lamps as Arthur closes the shutters outside and proceeds to nail them down. You make your way to the bedroom to change out of your dusty clothes, and as you begin to unbutton your blouse, you feel the light in the room drop a little. Turning to the window, you see Arthur happily leaning his face on his hand against the window, his bandana at his neck, and a boyish grin smeared across his face as he nods flirtatiously for you to continue as you were. You giggle and do a little shimmy towards the window with a wink, you see him laugh, shake his head, and pull his bandana over his mouth to protect from the dust as he closes the shutters and nails the barricade to them. You get an idea.

It’s another hour until Arthur has managed to wrangle the horses, secure the stable and lock down the house. The winds have picked up and you hear them smack against the house, the walls creaking under the pressure. You hear Arthur force his way through the front door and slam it behind him, nailing the last piece of wood to it with a frustrated grumble. You hear his footsteps slump around the house, “Y/N?”  
“I’m in here, Arthur!” you call from the bedroom.  
“It’s gettin’ pretty bad out there, I hope I’ve done enough to-” he steps through the doorway, bandana in hand, shaking the dust from his hair and looks straight across to see you greeting him on the bed, wearing nothing but a devilish smile, “ _Well look at what we have here…!_ ” he says lightly, his eyes twinkling darkly as the warm dusty glow from the room settles across your body.  
“I thought you deserved a reward after your hard week, _Mister Morgan_.”  
“Did you now?” He drags his thumb down the edge of his jaw and flicks a slanted grin as you bite your lip and nod. He throws the bandana onto the dresser beside him, and places his hands on his belt, “So you’re meanin’ to tell me, that while I’ve been out there, bustin’ my ass, fightin’ against animals and the elements, you’ve just been lyin’ around in bed?” he teases coolly.  
“I ain’t just lyin’ around, and I think you can see I ain’t actually _in bed_ ,” your voice matches his tone, and you see his body struggle to stay planted where he is as you shift yourself a little.  
“You know…” he takes a cigarette from the pack on the dresser, and slides it in between his lips, then lights a match off the doorframe, placing it slowly to the tobacco, “…Seein’ as we ain’t been… _together_ this last week, I don’t feel like this is a 100% selfless act on your behalf.” He extinguishes the match with a quick shake of his hand, and blows a long, slow cloud of smoke from his mouth.  
You grin and bite your thumbnail; something you’ve always done involuntarily, but its effect on Arthur has always been an incredibly happy coincidence. You watch him fight his urge to jump you; adjusting himself slightly as his excitement gets too obvious, it makes you ache, and your legs begin to squirm, “You been countin’ the days, _Mister Morgan?_ ”  
“Sweetheart, I’ve been countin’ the _goddamn_ _seconds_.” His eyes take their time over you; you watch him as they shift up from your toes, past your legs, across your stomach, over your breasts and up to your face. You feel your skin tingle as your cheeks grow hot. His work shirt is stuck to him, there’s a fine film of red dust across his body, the earthy powder even making his hair lighter. He can see your eagerness to feel him against you and he uses that to keep himself in check; to see you react to him like this has always been one of his most favourite scenes to sit back and watch. He takes another slow, deliberate draw on his cigarette, waiting for you to crack.  
“So, _why don’t you come here and let me thank you properly?_ ”  
He smirks, looking at his hand as it casually flicks a long smouldering line of ash onto the floorboards, and he rubs it in with his boot, “ _Ooohhh,_ that ain’t how this is gonna happen, _Darlin’._ ” The wind whistles threateningly outside as he balances the dying cigarette between his lips and kicks off his footwear, his eyes never leaving you. Without a word he rolls his broad shoulders out of his braces as he slowly walks to his side of the bed, stubbing out the cigarette at the end table, his back to you. He’s not making this easy, “You know we’re locked in, don’tcha?” he mumbles hungrily, still facing away from you as he fiddles with the buttons on his shirt.  
“Uh-huh.”  
“And I have _no idea_ how long this storm will take to pass.”  
You bite your lip, the tingle across your skin becomes a pulse as your heart pushes blood through you with such a force, you feel your body begin to glisten and perspire.  
“ _Uh-huh_.”  
“ _So_ ,” He suddenly untucks his shirt, pulling it over his head, the contours of his body stretch and strain as he brings it down and shakes the dust off it, “ _I guess we don’t need to rush nothin’_.”  
It's becoming too much; for a man who could be so caring, he really enjoyed torturing you. You decide to speed up matters and sit up onto your knees, reaching up a hand to take the waistband of his jeans.  
He grips your wrist, and looks down at you with a stern expression, “I told you, Darlin’,” he purrs, “ _that ain’t how this is gonna go_.” He grins darkly and leans close to your face, teasing the possibility of a kiss, “Just go back where you were.” He tells you softly as he flings your arm back away from him, “ _I thought this was for me?_ ”  
You shuffle back to the centre, reposition yourself with your left knee bent up towards the ceiling as he walks around to the foot of the bed, and leans against its base to watch you, “ _A week is a lonnnng time, gurl_.” He shakes his head and drags his thick bottom lip through his teeth with a sharp intake of breath. You can see light rivers of pale red begin to run over the sinews of his neck as his sweat mixes with the dust from his hair, his knuckles whiten as he grips tightly at the bed to hold himself back from you; as much as his desire to be locked against you made him ache, the view as you lie in front of him, naked and eager, _only for him,_ was worth the internal struggle. He pushes himself back upright and steps slowly around to your side of the bed.  
You shudder as his left hand rotates around your ankle before running slowly up your shin as he steps closer to you. You hear a small, deep chuckle as your eyes flutter closed from anticipation; Arthur’s hand usually rough and dry has been softened slightly by the dust across it; his warm, delicate touch grips a little tighter as his palm ascends over your knee, and onto your lower thigh. You make an involuntary whine as he inches ever closer to the crease at your hips.  
“ _That’s it_.” He growls quietly, as your hands run over your face, “ _Lemme see my reward_.”  
The house creaks a little louder as the storm gets ever closer, “… _Arthur… Just…_ ”. You almost miss the old days, _almost_. You manage to regain some composure to open your eyes as his hand stops near the top of your thigh. He looms over you, his broad, bare chest struggling to keep a relaxed, steady breath; he’s unbuckling his belt one-handed without ever looking away from your eyes, “ _This what you want?_ ” he teases with a filthy smirk, his eyebrow flicks upwards as you nod, “ _I can’t **hear you** , Sweetheart_.”  
“ _Yes!_ ” you manage through your breathlessness.  
Arthur nods, “ _Good._ ” He pops the first three buttons of his jeans with one hand while he runs his fingers down your neck, over your shoulder, and down to your wrist with the other; gently lifting your hand, pulling you up a little, and stepping towards you as he places your palm at the base of his shaft with a light groan.  
He is hot and solid, maybe even more so than usual, “A week really _is_ a long time,” you tease as you begin to stroke the length of him in time with his light hip pulses as he weaves his fingers through your hair. You shift position and bring your face up to his midriff, leaning to flutter small kisses across it. He stops and grips your face firmly before you are even able to begin, and carefully lies you back down on the bed before removing the rest of his clothes and joining you. He sits at your feet and closes his eyes as he places his hands on your raised knees and shoves them apart with a ravenous need. You look down to see him slowly making his way towards you, diverting his attention to the full length of your legs; dragging his lips lightly up one as his hand matches on the other, only stopping occasionally to look back at you with the smug smirk of a man in charge as his grip on your hip prevents you from writhing out of reach.  
The dust rattles violently against the building’s foundations as the storm descends on Beecher’s Hope, you feel the faintest of draughts lightly dance over your skin, causing it to pucker tightly.  
He drags his body up yours, briefly hooking his teeth around your nipple before he lands his mouth behind your ear. You feel his cock, already wet nudge at your ready entrance, and you draw your hips to meet it, “ _ohhh I don’t think so_ ,” he growls against your neck as he pulls his hips away slightly, “ _I ain’t done with you yet_.” He presses a heavy, hot kiss on your neck, as he runs his hand roughly over your breast, " _You want some of that, you’re gonna have to ask nicely, gurl_.” He huffs a grunt of excitement as he feels your body writhe under him in a wave and you grip his hair at the temples as you try and wrestle his mouth onto yours. His strength always wins out; managing to keep your lips far enough from his to prevent a kiss, but close enough for you to feel his hot breath wash over your skin, you screw your eyes shut with a whine as your legs wrap around his hips in painful need, your whole body is tense as you almost hang beneath him. He grins and bends back down to your neck, grazing your collarbone lightly with his teeth, “ _All you gotta do is ask, Sweetheart_ ,” he mumbles into your skin, one hand sliding down your ribs until his thumb lands at the crease in your hip and he begins to rotate and massage at the sweet spot you have there.  
“ _Arthur_ …”  
“ _Hmmm?_ ” he kisses between your breasts and drags his nose up the centre of your throat, planting a kiss under your jaw as his hand moves to your core, “ _say it._ ”  
You fight to find your voice as he begins to circle your nerve endings, you feel his grin against you as he rotates and strokes each time you go to open your mouth, “ _It’s just a simple word_.” He teases as he bites at your earlobe, his hand moving smoother and firmer inside you. The world outside is crashing from the storm; metal clangs and the wooden struts of the porch creak and shake, and you don’t care.  
Every part of his body that can be, is against your own; keeping you warm, keeping you safe, keeping you trapped beneath him, “ _I got you,_ ” he mumbles breathlessly, “ _I just need you to ask **nicely**_.”  
“ _PLEASE!_ ” you finally manage loudly, “ _Jesus Christ pleeeaase, Arthur. Just take me!_ ”  
His hand pulls away from your core and lands heavily by the side of your head as he holds himself above you, “Now, that weren’t _so_ difficult, was it?” before you can answer, he presses his mouth firmly onto yours, pushing his tongue through your lips and desperately intertwining it with your own, he groans heavily as he shifts his weight a little, pawing at your hair before you feel the size of him slam into you. You gasp and hitch your legs up, gripping his ribs with your thighs as he fills you, your slick causing him to flinch and stutter as he keeps his own climax under control. You cling against him as you beg him to go harder and you hear his moans as he reaches out to the top of the head board for leverage, looking down at you through his tensed arms, the lightest sprinkle of sweat drips from his brow to your face as he plunges himself deeper into you, stretching you with every thrust.  
Your joint moans and calls drown out the wails of the weather outside as you feel the waves of your release crash over you. As you whimper with satisfied pleasure, Arthur pushes one final hard thrust as far into you as your bodies allow, and brings his arms back down to the mattress, either side of your head. He smiles lazily as he nudges his nose with yours, planting light kisses across your lips every so often, while he continues to slowly push inside you, wanting to keep the sensation going forever.  
He wipes the sweat and hair from your forehead and kisses it, “Maybe I should be gone more often.”  
You hook your legs and arms tightly around him and lift yourself against him, teasing him with one stroke, “ _Don’t even joke about that, Mister Morgan_.”  
He laughs and finally collapses down against you, running his hands across your body happily. He wraps you in his arms, slings one thick leg heavily over your waist, and pulls you to him, “Maybe we can work out a schedule.” He mumbles into your hair as he hugs you tightly, already humming towards those light snores again.  
You sigh and smile as the storm rolls on through outside.  
  



End file.
